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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28745751">but at what cost.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bothetrashmouth/pseuds/bothetrashmouth'>bothetrashmouth</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character with OCD, Disabled Character, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kid Fic, M/M, Proceed with caution, amputee characters, autistic charcter, but there is trauma so thats a bonus, eddie isnt dead he just doesnt show up until chapter. like. three, no beta we die like men, slowburn, some heay material folks, there is no Forgetting, there is no Second It</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 14:13:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,496</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28745751</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bothetrashmouth/pseuds/bothetrashmouth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's early November, 2015. They haven't even heard from each other in nearly five years. Some... more than that. Eddie had vanished off the face of the earth, Stan seemed to want nothing to do with any of them and Richie is... Well he found himself in Chicago. On Ben and Bev's couch. They have kids now, and therapy, and mentla health issues, but Richie's more than a little determined to spend his second year of sobriety fixing his wrongs, and seeing everyone's face again. Almost everyone's face again. It all depends on who will accept his apologies.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>but at what cost.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is it! This is my baby. I've never written something this well planned or thought out before, and I hope everyone likes it as much I enjoyed writing it. Please tell me if I'm missing any content warnings or tags. And If the Kids are weird, Sorry, I have no idea how to write children, espcially ones that are under 13.  ENJOY! :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Elliot poked at his father’s shoulder the way kids do when they don’t know how to wake them. His father was shirtless, wrapped under the covers with shoulder blades out and head tucked under a pillow. Elliot had tried to call out, but didn’t want to startle him awake. </p><p>No need for more startling. There was too much of that already.  </p><p>So, Elliot used his index and middle finger to gently poke and prod at his father. His skin was a little sweaty. He smelled sweaty, too. He was up late last night working on something, talking with Elliot’s mother quietly. But his mother was harder to wake up, and much easier startled, so Dad it was.  </p><p>And his father’s eyes must’ve opened, because he stirred. His head lifted from the pillows and his mousy brown; slightly curly hair stuck to his face.  </p><p>He almost had a beard now, but Elliot figured it would be shaven back down to a polite stubble soon. Dad never cared for his appearance too much, and Mom never liked him in a beard.  </p><p><em> Reminds me too much of my ex-husband</em>. She would say, and then coo at dad.  <em> Plus, </em><em>it's </em><em>too rough to enjoy. </em>  </p><p>Dad always went red at this comment, but never explained what it meant. Must’ve been an adult thing. Elliot remembered growing up, kissing his father’s cheek when it was a beard and feeling the itchy prickle on his mouth for the rest of the day. Since Mom and Dad kiss so much, maybe Mom felt the same way.   </p><p>“Dad?” Elliot asked gently, confirming his dad was awake, and not just looking at him.  </p><p>“What’s up kiddo?” Dad replied. He sounded rough and groggy. Elliot was a smart 11-year-old. He knew the vague effects of hangover when his father wore them. It wasn’t so often he did this, but Elliot had seen the signs.  </p><p>“Um…” Elliot shifted on his feet. “There’s a weird man on the couch.”  </p><p>Dad shifted up more. His eyes opened properly, and the warm concern in his eyes made Elliot feel a little better. </p><p>“What are you talking about?” </p><p>Mom sat up a little bit. She was wearing one of Dad’s shirts. She looked grumpy.  </p><p>Mom was almost always grumpy in the morning, wearing a big furrowed frown, yawning and grunting. Dad liked being awake in the morning but he was a little less aware. It was fun for Elliot to watch them interact first thing in the morning. </p><p>“A man?” mom said with a bit of disdain. </p><p>“He’s tall and long and has lots of tattoos and won’t get off the couch.” Elliot thought perhaps, when he first saw the mystery man, that his house was being robbed. </p><p>He had seen robbers on TV. They went for small empty houses, not the open cottage house he lived in. And robbers wore darker clothes, and were in and out of the house trying not to get caught. Elliot knew the couch-hogger wasn’t a robber when he yanked a blanket out of JJ's hands. No robber wants to steal from a 10-year-old. </p><p>“A tall man with tattoos…” dad mumbled, eyes closing shut again and frowning, trying to remember, or perhaps wake up. “Stealing our couch?” </p><p>“He’s not stealing it.” Elliot promised, thinking about Looney Toon burglars. “He’s just trying to sleep.” </p><p>Dad leaned over his shoulder and looked at Mom, the way parents seemed to when they thought they knew something their children did not. </p><p>“Are there flags on the back of his neck? Tattoo flags?” Mom asked, still looking at Dad. </p><p>Elliot nodded. “The Irish flag, I think. Its green and white and red.” </p><p>“That’s Italian.” Dad looked over at him and then started to get out of bed.  </p><p>“Italian flag then.” Elliot said. “Should I call the police? Do we know him?”  </p><p>Mom swung herself out of bed. She looked a little nervous, which made Elliot think he should call the cops, even though the couch man didn’t seem particularly dangerous. A nuisance, yes, but you call the cops when there’s a weird raccoon in your garbage right?  </p><p>“He was playing tug-of-war with JJ for his blanket. Do we know him?” Elliot asked again.  </p><p>“<em>You  </em>don’t know him. Your mother and I know him well.” Dad put a hoodie on. It was the soft Star Wars one. He wears it a lot when he plays with LEGO. Maybe he’ll play LEGOs with Elliot today. </p><p>“What’s his name?” </p><p> </p><p>Ben scratched his chin. He did not know how or why Richie broke into his house last night. Or why he yanked Ben’s youngest’s favorite blanket from his grubby little fingers. Or how the dog didn’t lose her damn mind seeing him. </p><p>That’s not fully true. Ben could come up with answers for all but one of these questions. 1: Ben gave him one of the spare keys almost a decade ago. In case there was an emergency. 2: he probably took JJ's blanket because it’s a soft blanket and the couch's designated blanket is crap. Richie was cold, so he nabbed it and went back to sleep, knowing a nine-year-old wouldn’t be able to get it back (although he had another thing coming because last week JJ found out what an air horn was, and knew there was one in Dad’s Office) 3. Lucy probably remembered him from the last time he was here. </p><p>It was all about why then. </p><p>Thinking about that night made Ben clench his jaw. He breathed deeply. Anger is an ugly emotion; his mother always says. Just breathe Benny. </p><p>His mother is the only one who gets to call him Benny. Not even Bev called him Benny. </p><p>Richie was tucked into the fold of the couch, back bare, tattoos covering his shoulders and going down his spine. His hair was long, longer than Ben remembered it being. His jeans were still on, as evidence by the clear leather in his belt loops and the cuffs at his ankles but his shirt was thrown over the arm of the couch and his socks were on top of it.  </p><p>Ben looked to the front door. A new key on the key rack, and a pair of white converse that had been drawn and painted all over kept neatly by the front door.  </p><p>Then Ben noticed something that struck the anger out of him. Bev saw it first, of course, she must’ve been looking for it.  </p><p>“Richie, get up.” Ben said, not really caring all the much because it was Richie and Richie is like he's always been.  </p><p>Richie moved, curling in on himself, and his tattooed fingers wrapped around the opposing bicep. He was awake alright.  </p><p>“Richie. What are you doing here?” Bev asked, walking over and peeling the blankets off him. “Move so I can sit.” </p><p>“Or? Whatcha gonna do, Foxy, sit on me?” Richie said, in a clear and steady voice. Far more than Ben had expected, and by her face, far more than Bev expected too.  </p><p>“I have stilettos that would go right through your belt. Get. Up.” </p><p>Richie's legs, which had been hanging over the arm of the couch, tucked in, giving Bev room to sit. </p><p>Ben rolled his eyes. </p><p>He considered himself a forgiving guy. He forgave Bill years ago. He forgave Stan. He even forgave Eddie. But Richie was a different story. He’s spent many years forgiving him. Praying for him. </p><p><em> Now’s </em><em>the time </em><em>Tozier</em><em>. Was it worth it or not? </em> </p><p>“Richie, are you sober?” Ben asked, speaking his mind once and a while. He looked behind him, and in the hallway doorframe was his boys. JJ was bravely stepped in front of Eli, ready to get his blanket back. </p><p>“To your rooms, please.”  </p><p>They looked up at him with their wide eyes. Ben knew they were smart enough to know not to argue, given the tone of Ben’s voice, the sharpness in Beverly's words and the confusion of Richie's presence. So, they turned on their feet and ushered each other into JJ's room. In minutes Ben knew they’d cross the hall into Elliot’s room instead.  </p><p>Eileen swiftly went passed him, holding a bowl of cereal. She had been sitting at the counter. She mumbled a soft “Whoop” as she went. Ben bit back a smile.  </p><p>Richie hadn’t answered so Ben came up behind Bev, always ready to be her muscle, and backup. “Richie. Are you sober?” </p><p>Richie let out a long sigh. He was still holding himself in a tight, cowardly way. “Yes, I’m sober.” </p><p>“What was that?” Bev snapped. </p><p>“I’m sober.” Richie replied, louder this time. </p><p>Bev looked at Ben, who while looking back, rubbed her shoulder. </p><p>“Are you?” </p><p>“<em>Yes</em>.” Richie mumbled, and this time he sounded desperate. He sat up, and turned around.  </p><p>It could be argued that Richie had the nicest hair out of all the losers. Ben always thought Beverly had the nicest hair. But Richie always had thick, long curls, and now they were thrown carelessly around his shoulders, and down his back.  </p><p>Ben had forgotten about aging, to a degree. The kids aged – had aged, greatly so, after the past five years – but Beverly was evergreen. Timeless. She hadn’t seemed to age a day since they got married. Ben felt still and calm with her, since the day they got married, she was dazzling and beautiful, he felt like their first dance had never really stopped.  </p><p>If he thought about it too long, he’d zone out entirely, disappearing into the memory of his shoes tapping the aged wood floor, Beverly’s warm, soft hands in his as her fantastical wedding dress swings around the room. She laughs as Heaven by Bryan Adams fills the air... </p><p>Ben takes a second to blink. He’s not at his wedding right now. He's been married for 13 years. He needs to focus on the now. He needs to focus on Richie – who he hasn’t seen in nearly four years and was kind of thought to be dead by now, which, yikes, but given Richie’s history, wasn’t really too harsh of a judgement, – who was sitting on his couch, shaken and bleeding and probably scared as hell.  </p><p>Richie had clearly aged. His hair was longer yes, but he looked like he’s had a hangover for decades. His eyes looked heavy and sunken. He had dropped weight – too much weight to be healthy – and there were sliver strands appearing at his roots. He looked old. He looked sick. </p><p>Around his middle was a poorly put-on gauze bandage. On his side was a big red blotch. Not quite bleeding through, but Ben was willing to bet there was scuffs of red on his nice couch.  </p><p>“What did you do?” Beverly asked, picking his shirt off the arm of the couch. </p><p>“Some teenagers decided to pick a fight.” Richie told her. </p><p>“You were <em>mugged? </em>” Ben’s eyes popped open and his head bowed down from his shoulders. </p><p>“<em>Lightly</em> mugged.” Richie corrected. “Wasn’t even that bad. They didn’t even shank me.”  </p><p>“Then what’s this?” Beverly said, putting her finger tips on the red splotched bandage. Richie didn’t flinch.  </p><p>Richie squinted. He didn’t have his glasses on, so he looked like he was trying to read invisible words. </p><p>“Mild laceration.” He decided, after some thought.  </p><p>“Do you need medical assistance?” Ben’s words felt soured, somehow. Maybe because driving Richie to the hospital for a god damn stab wound wasn’t what Ben wanted to do at 9:23am on a Saturday. </p><p>Richie hung his head and stared at his middle. He gently pulled at the bandage to see under it. His eyebrows went up, a little bit. “I think I’m good.”  </p><p>Ben rolled his eyes, and then looked at Beverly. She looked concerned. Far more concerned then Ben felt. She always was more forgiving for Richie’s strange, god-testing nature. He was like a cockroach, incapable of being damaged but begging to be squished.  </p><p>Ben knew he was being too harsh. He loved Richie like a brother. An estranged, weird, alcoholic older brother. And Ben would be able to save his resentment for Richie until after he knew Richie wouldn’t get an infection and die on the couch like a bug that is not a cockroach.  </p><p>He turned to speak down the hallway:  </p><p>“Elieen, can you bring me the first aid kit from the hall closet please?” </p><p> </p><p>Richie buttoned up his shirt quietly. The wound wasn’t nearly as bad as it looked, and they were all surprised to see it when it was cleaned up. It looked a little bad, yeah, but nowhere near fatal.  </p><p>Richie had hung his hair up in a ponytail, lose, long bangs over his tired face. The longer Ben stared at him the more conflicted he felt. He wanted to be mad at Richie, wanted to resent him. But he knew Richie would only drop in like this if there was some deeply, deeply wrong.  </p><p>Beverly set a tray holding three mugs in front of them at the breakfast bar, resigning to making Richie something to eat while Ben cleaned him up. Richie scarfed down the pancakes, but now he only gingerly took the coffee mug and swirled it around, staring at it like it was going to help him. </p><p>“So,” Beverly gave him an expecting look. “What happened?” </p><p>Richie gave her an expecting look back. “What do you mean?” </p><p>“<em>Why are you here</em>, Rich. We haven’t heard from you in a hot while.” </p><p>Richie shrugged, and flashed his eyes a little. The scars in his irises made Ben’s heart hurt. “I’m not allowed to spend my sober-versary with my two sexy best friends?” He plastered a grin onto his face, cheesy and face. “Hah? No?” </p><p>“You’ve been sober for a year?” Beverly tilted her head, trying not to sound too doubtful.  </p><p>“Yeah,” Richie sighed, dropping his cheesy grin and looking somberly down back to his coffee. “I was shocked too. It’s a big deal, I guess. It doesn’t feel like it though. Overshadowed by all the other anniversaries this time of year.” </p><p><em> Oh</em>. Ben realized, and it hung there, unforgiving and deep.  </p><p>“It’s been five years.” Richie whispered. “Five years and he’s still gone. Seven years and Stan’s still mad at me. 12 years I’ve not been allowed to meet my god-daughter. 27 years and I still wake up in the night thinking a spear has gone through my skull.” he met Ben’s eyes. “What a world I’m living in.”  </p><p>“So what led you here?” Ben asked, now genuinely curious, and eager to push the conversation more comfortable; even though he knew it wouldn’t get there anytime soon.  </p><p>Richie hung his head, this time not for comedy or drama – Ben knew this time it was shame, and when his chin lifted back up, his eyes were dead, and watery.  </p><p>“I didn’t think I’d survive this year if I were alone.” Richie admitted. “And I wanted to believe there would be people wanting to help me stay.”  </p><p>Beverly and Ben looked at each other again, Ben wanted to get up and hold her, make her feel better and safer and to ask Richie to leave and take care of himself somewhere else but instead he got up and wrapped his arms around Richie. </p><p>It wasn’t reflective of how he felt. He was upset with Richie. He had seen how Richie could get when he was at lows like this. He could get angry – almost violently so – and often dangerous. Ben had a family. He had kids. He wasn’t going to let Richie get away with that again. But... </p><p>But Richie was still his friend, and he still deserved comfort.  </p><p>Richie sunk into Ben’s arms, tensing and relaxing and tensing and relaxing and desperate and hesitant and for the first time Ben stopped thinking about how Richie had hurt Ben, and instead considered if Richie had hurt himself.  </p><p>“You can stay with us Rich.” Beverly supplied, and Ben nodded in agreement. “As long as you keep your shirt on and you <em>talk </em>to us.”  </p><p>“I’m better.” Richie said wetly. “I’m trying really hard to be better, I promise I won’t ever – I won’t - I-I'm sorry-” </p><p>And then Richie broke down crying. His body jolted and shook, and while Ben couldn’t feel the tears through his hoodie, he knew they were there. Ben sunk down, holding Richie gently and bringing his chin to Richie’s shoulder. Beverly was behind him, her hands on Richie’s back, rubbing up and down slowly. She and Ben stared at each other for a while. Richie continued to choke out <em>“I’m </em><em>sorry”</em>s and <em>“I’ll be </em><em>better”</em>s and other sad, lonely phrases at were making Ben’s heart crack and pop. </p><p> </p><p>Richie was never known to cry for long, but when he finally pulled back from Ben, the bags under his eyes were swollen and pink. “I’m sorry.” he mumbled, sucking in a gulp of air. “I gotta pull back.”  </p><p>“No no no,” Ben hushed, keeping his hands on Richie’s shoulders. Beverly had disappeared into the hallway to tell the kids they had an uncle who was going to be staying with them. Ben was never the most emotionally intelligent, but he figured he could handle this. “It’s okay Rich. You don’t have to pull back anything. We’re here for you. You need some comfort, a-and safety, and Bev and I are happy to provide.” </p><p>“You’re not mad?” Richie’s voice came out like a whisper, the look in his eyes made him look like a scared child. </p><p>“Do you want me to be mad?” And with Richie’s sudden childlike nature, Ben put on his Dad voice. </p><p>“I just don’t want the anger to be a surprise later.”  </p><p>Ben nodded. He understood. He sat up and took a deep breath. </p><p>“Okay.” He closed his eyes. He had to be thoughtful about this. Richie’s gaze slowly burned into him. He chose every word slowly and deliberately. “I... What you did to Bev and I was... traumatic. It was dangerous, and inexcusable. I know... <em>Why </em>you did...what you did. And I’m willing to accept that you weren't in any stable state of mind when you did it. But you still did it. And... mental health... mental <em>illness </em> ... that’s an <em>explanation</em>. Not an <em>excuse</em>. And I will <em>not</em> let it happen again. In any form or fashion. I... I know you’re better. <em>Getting </em>better. Have <em>gotten </em>better. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t getting better. You’re still struggling, but you’re reaching out – looking for people who will help you, and that’s... that’s amazing. I’m really proud of you. And I know this isn’t easy. You’ve been through a lot of intense... hardships. And I’m both very proud and happy that you’re still with us. I’m, of course, open and ready to help you grow and get better from here. You deserve that much. I know you would do the same for me. I’m willing to... look past your... behavior. What you’ve done. But I will not, will <em>not </em>forget what you’re capable of. I’ll help you for sure. Same with Bev. But I will keep an eye on you. And if I decide that you pose a threat to my family – my <em>wife, my</em><em> kids?  </em>I will fucking kill you.” </p><p>Ben’s eyes had gone dark and his hands had dropped from Richie’s shoulder down in his own lap. His body language was mostly calm, but seeing a stormy rumble in Ben’s eyes gave Richie the shivers. Hot <em>damn  </em>he forgot how scary Ben could be.  </p><p>(Though this should not be a surprise to Richie, Ben is 6’3” and 250 lbs of muscle and fatherly love. He could snap Richie in half.) </p><p>Richie nodded when he realized Ben was done. He almost wanted to say <em>yes sir </em>like he was talking to a drill sergeant or something but then he’d pop a boner and he’s learned over the decades of knowing Ben that boners made Ben uncomfortable, so he just nodded.  </p><p>Ben took a deep breath. “I’m not...” He stopped and tilted his head, like some ghost behind him was whispering the words. “I know you’re doing better. And I need you to understand I don’t expect you to get like you were that night. I know you better than that now.”  </p><p>Richie nodded again, this time more earnestly. </p><p>Ben smiled; it made his entire presence feel warmer. Damn these kids have a good dad. </p><p>“Thanks man,” Richie’s throat felt destroyed. “For being honest and shit with me. Needed a good slap on the wrists.” </p><p>Ben made an undecipherable face. “No, no you didn’t. C’mere.” And they hugged again.  </p><p>“We have a guest room, it’s all yours. The house wakes up at around seven, every morning, and the kids are all in bed by ten at night, just so you know.” he went on, and his voice went softer the longer he spoke. Richie could almost throw up with how sweet it was, how much Ben adored his kids.  </p><p>Richie rubbed his eyes and face. “I have so many damn birthdays and shit to make up for.” he sighed. “I gotta take those little bastards shopping I think.” </p><p>“Maybe you could reel the language in, Rich?” Ben asked politely, and Richie nodded, mumbling a soft ‘S<em>orry'  </em>before Ben pointed behind him. “You never know when you have an audience.” </p><p>Richie looked over his shoulder, and Bev had reappeared with three little gremlins (Or, “children” as Richie was told they were called).  </p><p>“This is your uncle Richie.” </p><p><em> Oh </em><em>my cock coming C</em><em>hrist </em><em>I’m their uncle Richie</em>. </p><p>Richie smiled, really big, toothy, genuine smile, for the first time in a while. The three of the looked uncomfortable, but curious.  </p><p>The smallest of the three, the one who had that soft ass purple blanket Richie took earlier, stomped forward and pointed his little sausage fist at Richie with rage. “Don’t touch my blanket! It’s mine and you’re not allowed to steal!” </p><p>Richie nodded. Those are some solid terms. Motherfucker knows how to tell someone off. “You’re right. I’m very sorry, it was wrong of me to steal from you, I will never do it again. I promise.” And Richie put his hand out to shake.  </p><p>The Kid gave Richie a suspicious glare, and then shook his hand – <em>oh my god his little hand he’s so small what a little dude what the fuck- </em> carefully, like he had just bet the house on the ponies. He was the smallest alright, with a pair of big chaotic eyes. Richie could tell he was the one who steals from the cookie jar. </p><p>“My name is JJ. I am the... Th-the brains of the operation.” JJ said, like he was some war boss and not a nine-year-old. “These are my siblings-” </p><p>“Eliott.” the middle kid who looked so much like Ben Richie thought he was going to have to lay down. It was like he was back in 1989, that summer when they all met, if Ben had dropped 60 lbs at random. He had the same round face, brown eyes and mousy brown hair. He looked bored out of his damn mind. Richie figured he didn’t need to steal from the cookie jar. Eliott had a secret stash or something. “Hi.”  </p><p>“Man of few words, I respect that.” Richie nodded, saying nothing more before he started called the poor kid ‘<em>hayst</em><em>ack’</em>. </p><p>JJ was still holding onto Richie’s hand. His palm was bigger than the kid's entire outstretched hand. “That’s Elieen. She’s gross and twelve.” </p><p>Elieen, who looked like Beverly but with long hair, longer than Bev’s ever was, well kept bangs and brown eyes, made the most teenage face as she rolled her eyes and tried to turn on her heels to go back down the hall, presumably to her room. Beverly stopped her and said, quietly but with a firm tone: <em>Say hi, please. Just say hello.</em></p><p>“Hi. I like your tattoos. I’m not gross.” She said sharply, with a little head twitch and a wave of her fingers.  </p><p>Richie looked down to his fingers as he said “Oh thank you, I don’t know how they got there.” He had become so desensitized to his tattoos he only really recognized them when someone brought them up. Normally this was limited to children, punk teenagers and really angry catholic grandmas. “I didn’t think you were; Little Man doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” </p><p>JJ scrunched his tiny face together. “Yes I do!” </p><p>“No one under four feet tall knows what they’re talking about.” Richie told him. Ben snorted and then repressed laughter behind him. “It’s a fact of life.”  </p><p>JJ didn’t look convinced until Richie said fact of life. Then he dropped everything and started to really think about it. He looked at Bev, and then at Ben (who was still trying to not laugh) and then to the floor. </p><p>“Maybe. I think I'm more than four feet tall.”  </p><p>Richie wanted to say “<em>maybe</em>” in that ambivalent tone you give kids when they say absolutely anything, but Eliott, without missing a beat, said: “You'd be wrong.”  </p><p>“Cold-blooded.” Richie said to Beverly, smiled and ran her nails over Eliotts scalp. Eliott blinked harshly and shivered.  </p><p>These kids... Richie liked these kids. </p><p>“Uncle Richie, shall I show you to your room?” Ben said, probably using his Dad Senses to know the kids were done with their introductions. </p><p>“Sure thing.” Richie looked down to JJ, who was now very interested in the circuits tattooed onto Richie’s fingers. “Thanks for the introduction Little Man. Bring it in.” He stood up off the breakfast bar and brought his other hand out to a fist for, as the kids bluntly say, a fist bump. </p><p>JJ scurried almost, staring up at Richie and it seemed like he was realizing for the first time that Richie was an <em>adult</em>, who was 6’4 and covered neck to waist in tattoos, had long curly hair and two  <em> very </em> pierced ears. Richie thought he realized this because he jumped once and said, loudly: “You look like a Rockstar!” </p><p>“Rockstar?! Where?!” Richie yelped, faking panic, and JJ dissolved into a fit of giggles. JJ gave Richie a fist bump and continued to grin wildly. His hair was brown, like his dads, but it was bushy and wild curly like his moms. He had the big contagious grin Bev had too. </p><p>Richie smiled at Elieen, who was going that dumb young teenager thing of trying to look cool by pretending you don’t think anything is funny, and pointed a finger gun at Eliott, who looked like he actually didn’t think anything was funny, and with a totally straight face, did a finger gun back.  </p><p>The guest room was nice. Like, <em>hotel </em>nice. A nice tall lamp, a shrimpy, empty desk, a nice big queen-sized bed, with a ton of drawers and shelves in and around the frame, which really drew away from the fact that the room was otherwise empty, quiet, kind of sad and there were no sheets on the mattress.  </p><p>Ben opened up the blue blackout curtains and the whole room felt a lot nicer. “I’ll get some sheets and make the bed for you, so you have some blankets and stuff.”  </p><p>“No way man I’ll just use Elliot. He’s stiff as a board. Just make him plank all night.” </p><p>Ben smiled at that but shook his head. “You’ll just have to make due with blankets.” </p><p>“What about all three of them? They can rotate through the night.” Richie called after Ben as he left the room. “They can- They can take shifts!” </p><p>Richie laughed to himself and took a breath in the dusty, lonely little guest room outside Chicago Illinois. One week ago, if you had asked him where he thought he’d be a week from then he would’ve said <em>dead</em> or <em>sleeping</em> or <em>in an alleyway, dying</em>. But instead, he was states away from home, in a well-lit guest room, alive. Sober.  </p><p>He shuddered and turned around, to see a wide eyed Elieen in the door way, holding his bag in her arms. Richie took it from her and without really thinking about it said “Thanks Chica.” and then stopped abruptly.  </p><p>When they were kids, and first becoming friends, Richie tried an array of nicknames on Beverly, and every time he gave her a new one, it made her skittish. Every member of Bev’s bloodline Rich had met (That being two of them, Beverly Marsh and Al “Asshole” Marsh) were standoffish as hell. The last thing Richie wanted was to freak out the 12-year-old as a weird, nickname giving 40-year-old show pig.  </p><p>But Elieen just broke into a semi-shy grin that reminded Richie of smoke breaks and scrunched up her nose with a tilt of her head. Her hair swayed to the side. </p><p>“Chica?” She asked. “Is that Spanish or something?” </p><p>Richie felt a wave of relief. “Yeah it’s just Spanish for girl. Nothing fancy. You gotta earn fancy nicknames.” </p><p>Elieen leaned pressed her back to the doorframe and watched Richie open his duffle bag on the bed, tossing out the vitals: phone chargers, notebooks, laptop. “What are my parent’s fancy nicknames?” </p><p>“Your mom used to be Chica, when we were kids.” Richie said, and heard the fondness in his voice. “When we didn’t know each other that well. Nowadays, she’s Poppet, or Red. And your dad is Haystack, or Benvolio.”  </p><p>“Benvolio?” Elieen mumbled, clearly trying to figure it out. “Poppet- Do you mean poppy? Like the flower?”  </p><p>“No, I mean Poppet.” Richie promised, with no further explanation. He plugged his phone charger into the wall.  </p><p>Elieen let out a half-chuckle. “You’re weird.” </p><p>Richie swung around from where he was facing the wall. “Yeah I am!” </p><p>Elieen made a fun face and wandered back down the hallway. Richie heard her relay the conversation to someone in the living room.  </p><p>Richie sat on the bed. He let out a long sigh. Then he smiled again. Genuinely. The longer he was in the room the less it felt like a hotel. Outside the doorway, he could hear the rest of the house in motion. It was barely 11am. JJ saying “I want pancakes!” despite him having breakfast not half an hour ago. Eliott explaining Benvolio to Eileen and Ben correcting him. The sound of a washing machine rumbling through the walls. Beverly was using a sewing machine across the hall in her office.  </p><p>At home, Richie’s house was very quiet. His hobbies needed headphones, and he didn’t know his neighbors. He had lived alone for five years, at that point. Being in a family house felt... nostalgic. </p><p>He closed his eyes and tried to picture the last get-together the losers had, all seven of them in one place. It was Halloween, 2008. Richie was Elvis Presley, Bev was an 80s workout teacher, Ben was a candy monster (he glued a bunch of gross kinds of candy to a black sweater and wore it under a brown jacket with a witch hat – apparently it's from a cartoon), Bill didn’t dress up, he never did, Mike went as Bill, Stan was a cockatoo (He had an amazing costume, always did) and Eddie- </p><p>The thought of Eddie threw Richie’s smile off-kilter. That year Eddie was... a stereotype. He went as a stereotype. He had a bowtie and his hair combed back and suspenders and khakis and spent the whole night talking in a weird, high-tone sassy way, with his hand on his hip and a cheesy fake grin on his face.  </p><p>He always did weird costumes like that. He would go as “<em>the scariest thing you could imagine</em>” and show up as tax paperwork. He would go as “<em>a hideous monster</em>” and tape a mirror to his shirt. Dumb, easy stuff like that. It made Richie so happy to see him do that because it upset everyone to see him in a costume like that (he would go as “<em>Late</em>” and show up ready to hit the fucking Beach) but Richie knew Eddie looked forward to it every year.  </p><p>Richie missed him. So much.  </p><p>But he wanted to believe Eddie wouldn’t want him to be miserable. With or without Eddie around, Richie knew he had to fix his mood. He wanted his second year of sobriety to kick off with a bang. Reuniting with Ben and Bev and meeting their kids was step one. Step two... </p><p>There was someone Richie pissed off a long time ago. Someone Richie would give his entire right leg to see again.  </p><p>He wondered, for a second, if Stan even wanted to see him. </p><p>Ah, of course he does, that crazy bastard. Can’t dress up as a cockatoo and expect Richie Tozier not to show up at your door step. Stan has Richie’s god daughter for Christ sakes. Can’t keep him from her for long. And he can’t kiss Patty from this far away! </p><p>Richie nodded to himself. He would fix what he had broken with Stan. After that? Who knows? Maybe he’d convince the kids to take up planking.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry if the formatting is fucky<br/>find me on tumblr and tell me what you think: https://honkhonkrichard.tumblr.com/</p></blockquote></div></div>
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